Not Your Usual Scary Story
by RavishinglyRood
Summary: *FINISHED* A story set in season eight in which Doggett and Scully investigate horror movie style murders. A little suspense, a few episode references, and a lot of character moments and bad jokes. Please read and review to help me write better, okay?
1. It's not even lunchtime

**Author's Note: **This story is set some time in early Season Eight. In this story you will not find Scully and Doggett making hot monkey love, because I try to keep them in character the whole time. This story does fit into the continuity of Season Eight, but I think you'll find some nifty character moments along the way. You have an X-Files case and Scully and Doggett discovering what they fear the most. There are also angst and bad horror movie jokes. What could you **_not_** love about this? If there's something you don't love, I guess you can blast me in the review. Oh well, I've talked too much. Here's the basic run down for those you that don't remember Season 8: Scully just found out she's pregnant, Doggett just started working on the X-Files, and Mulder has just been abducted. Okay, now let's get to the story, shall we?

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Fear. It, along with aggression, is our most basic emotion, our most primal instinct. It even exists in the most primitive part of our brains. 

Her name is Jaime. She is seventeen, has her whole life before her, and she's scared out of her mind. She runs through the forest, blinded by her unrelenting terror, as her blonde curls bounce over her shoulders. 

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Everybody—we all have something we fear. Something that terrifies us beyond the point of words or all rationality. Something that scares us so much that it threatens to devour our souls as it creeps along in the darkest corners of our nightmares. We cannot control what we fear; the best we can do is look it in the face and hope that it_ is the first to blink._

She looks behind her, and a small shriek escapes her lips. She starts to run faster. He's catching up. She cannot let him catch her. She's seen what happens when the huge, ominous man does. 

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My name is Dana Scully. During the last seven years, I have experienced many things—seen many things. I cannot even describe a few of them; many I do not dare think about. Yet, though I have been at the center of all these horrid ordeals and seen many terrible things, none of them are my darkest terror. None of them even begin to measure up to the one thing, two things actually, that I fear the most.

She looks over her shoulder again, and she's surprised and starts to slow down. He is gone. She stops to listen, straining for any sound to let her know where he might be. There is nothing. No noise is in the air. It is like the forest is afraid to speak. 

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While all the things I have seen give me a chill down my back and make the hairs on my neck stand on end, it's the things I haven't seen, that I do not know, that wake me in the middle of the cold, lonely night.

A twig cracks behind her. She turns, and she screams as the tall, bulky figure wraps his hands around her throat. She struggles like a mouse in the jaws of a snake. It is futile; her body soon goes limp, as another young life is ended before it truly starts.

****

The X-Files

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Not Your Usual Scary Story 

The Truth is Out There

Advance, Virginia

Three Days Later

Dana Scully would definitely call this a bad day. Her neighbors, for whatever reason, decided it was a good idea to blast their Enya record at five in the morning. The baby growing inside her decided there was not room for both him and her previous night's dinner, so she shared quality time with the toilet. Once at work, she found out her partner and she got to drive three hours to some no-name town in Virginia, which would have been nice except those were three hours she could have spent on the paperwork they had from the last case. Then, just because he was in on the whole 'annoy the heck out of Scully' conspiracy, the sheriff said they could not meet him at the station; oh no, they had to meet him on some cold, deserted, half-way paved road by the forest. "Great," Scully muttered as she stepped out of the car. "The day's gone to Hell, and it's not even lunch time yet." She had forgotten about that; breakfast had taken a back seat to throwing up dinner. Earlier that morning she had watched in a mild rage as the blonde from homicide grabbed the last donut. Chalk up another mark to whatever force was out to ruin her day.

John Doggett, her current partner and still a relative rookie to the X-Files division, stepped out of the car and leaned against the hood. He was in a better mood than his partner was, but he felt annoyed, having gotten the cold shoulder from her all the way from D.C. Since she was not going to talk to him, he occupied himself by flipping through the manila folder containing the documents they had been faxed Sunday. After skimming them for a while, he said, "Well, Agent Scully, judging by the disturbance of things around the bodies, which would indicate a struggle, and the police report, it looks like we have a double homicide."

Scully glared at him. "Shouldn't you have looked at that before we left D.C.?" she asked.

"I did," Doggett said coolly. "I was just trying to make conversation." 

Scully immediately felt bad for snapping at her partner. He had been nothing but professional and loyal to her in the short time she had known him, and she was repaying him with an attitude. She rubbed her temples, and she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Agent Doggett. It was…it was a bad morning."

"I understand," he said. He looked off at the forest for a moment, then he chuckled. "I remember my wife…well, ex-wife…Barbara had days like this too when she was pregnant with Luke."

Scully blinked. "Agent Doggett, are you implying my mood is because of raging hormones?"

The blood disappeared from his face. "Uh, no…"

The glare she gave him was the headlights, and he was a big, brown-eyed doe. He shut up and took his torture like a man, knowing there was nothing he could say that would not make it worse. After a while, though, she shook her head and muttered something to herself. "I'm sorry, Agent Doggett," she said, finally gaining control. "I…I think it is hormones. But it was a really bad morning." She chuckled.

Doggett laughed. "It's all right, Agent Scully. So, have you read through the file yet?"

"Yes, I have."

"And what do you make of it?"

"Well, we have two dead teenagers out in the middle of the woods, apparently involved in some kind of drug induced sexual exploit. Just from watching bad slasher movies they should know that's a bad idea, so should we really be surprised they died?" She smiled.

"Funny. Actually, what I was getting at was…I've looked this case up and down, and I don't see no X-file here."

"Neither did I," Scully said. She paused a moment before sighing. She had been doing this for seven years. If one does anything for seven years, she starts to pick up on the little things. "I'll bet you ten dollars," she started, " that the sheriff comes out here with an explanation for why we're meeting him by the woods that goes something like, 'It's a small town. You know how people talk. And, well, they are sure going to talk if they knew about this!'"

Doggett blinked. "This happen a lot in this line of work?"

"More than you'd expect."

Almost on cue, a beaten up and faded police car appeared at the end of the road. It drove slowly up to the agents, and stopped behind their car. A round little man in a brown jacket and a police uniform stepped out and wiped his hands on his pants, leaving a sweaty hand print on them. He was beyond nervous; he had never met with federal officers before and he wanted to show he ran a professional operation.

"Sheriff Hutchins," Scully said, flashing her badge. Doggett did the same. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner Special Agent John Doggett."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am and sir," the sheriff said, politely shaking their hands. 

He stood back for a minute, resting his hands on his hips. He smiled politely at them, and they smiled politely back. He wasn't sure what to say next, so he continued smiling politely. They, of course, returned the courtesy. This continued for a while until Scully put an end to it by saying, "Would you like to tell us why we're meeting you out by the woods?" 

"Oh, gosh, sorry," he said. "We would have met at the station, but it's a small town. You know how people talk, and we really don't need people talking about this. It's a bit of a doozey, you might say."

Doggett looked down at the ground as a small smile flickered on Scully's face. Sheriff Hutchins wondered why the agents were trying so hard not to laugh, wondering if he had missed the joke, but he continued anyway. "I thought you two should get a look at the crime scene too. I know it's been three days, but maybe ya'll will see something we didn't. I mean, we're a pretty quiet town. We don't usually get anything like this, let alone two in the same night, so my boys are a little inexperienced in this field. We probably overlooked all kinds of evidence." He started to walk into the woods, and he motioned for Scully and Doggett to follow.

"Yea," Scully muttered under her breath. "Suspense." The only person that heard her was her stomach, and it answered back with a growl.

"So, what's so strange about these murders?" Doggett asked, stepping over a tree root.

"Well, you saw the pictures, right?"

"Yes, sir. We did."

"The boy, Teddy Christian, he died from a harpoon through the throat."

Doggett stopped in his tracks. He pulled the manila folder out and hurriedly flipped through it.

Seeing Doggett had stopped, Hutchins said, "Uh, Agent Doggett, this isn't the crime scene."

"I'm looking at these pictures again, Sheriff, and I can say for certain this kid did not die of a harpoon through the throat. There's no hole, no blood…"

"No harpoon…" Scully muttered quietly, rolling her eyes innocently. She meant it only for herself, but Doggett must have heard it as he shot her a look. She blushed slightly, and tried to regain her professionalism. "What caused you to arrive at this conclusion, Sheriff Hutchins, and why was it not included in report?"

"Well, that's the reason we called you guys. He died of a harpoon wound, but obviously he didn't. That's just a little unusual, don't you think?" Sheriff Hutchins asked.

"Perhaps, but maybe a harpoon isn't the only possible cause of death," Scully said calmly. She was a pro at dealing with these people by now, and, except for the occasional hormone induced slip, she was flawless at it. "Isn't it possible he was poisoned or even strangled?"

"Well, we have an eyewitness account that says it was a harpoon wound."

"There was an eye witness?" Doggett said. He flipped through the folder yet again. "There's no mention of that anywhere on the report."

"That's because she's the other victim."

"Well, I'm just about damned confused," Doggett muttered, dropping his arms to the side.

The officer chuckled nervously. "Well, you see, Jaime and Teddy were out here having a little bit of a…good time…if you catch my drift. Jaime thought her parents were going to be out of town until morning, but they came home around midnight. Her sister was trying to look out for her, so she called her on Jaime's cell phone. Jaime apparently walked off from Teddy to talk to her sister. During that time, Teddy was murdered. She described what she saw to her sister."

"I see," Agent Scully said thoughtfully. "Did Jaime by any chance get a look at the killer?"

"Uh, yes she did…"

"And?"

"Well, you're not going to believe who it is," Sheriff Hutchins chuckled. 

"Try us, Sheriff Hutchins," Scully said.

The officer chuckled again. "It's…It's Jason."

The agents stared blankly at him for a moment.

His smile trembled a little as he began to feel nervous. "You know…Jason."

Again, more silent staring.

"Come on, it's _Jason_! **Friday the 13th **Jason. Jason Voorhees!"


	2. and it's already turned to crap

"Jason Voorhees?" Scully muttered. She said it again in her head. Then she thought it once more, just for the sheer heck of it. Part of her wanted to go off on this man for wasting their time, but the other half of her knew he was just doing his job. Doing his job badly, perhaps, but he was still just doing his job. "You're saying Jason Voorhees killed these teenagers?"

"Yeah. I know it sounds awful crazy. That's why I wanted to keep it low profile. I was afraid people might get scared thinking there was some crazy guy in a hockey mask roaming around," Sheriff Hutchins said.

"Well, 'crazy guy in a hockey mask' does fit Jason's description," Doggett said. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Scully could see he was trying his hardest not to laugh. It was up to her to get the rest of the job done. She tried to look on the bright side; there was no way the day could get any worse. "So, was an autopsy done on the bodies?" she asked.

"Uh, no," Sheriff Hutchins said. "We heard you were some kind of expert at that and we didn't want to mess things up. We didn't want to ruin your fun." He chuckled and gave her a little nudge with his elbow.

She forced a smile. She thought about how she stood corrected. _Now_ the day couldn't get any worse. Everybody knows there's nothing quite like the thrill of slicing open dead teenagers. "Where are the bodies now?" Scully asked, almost sighing

"They're at the county morgue. I trust you'll be taking a look at them?"

"Of course. We'll also probably talk to the sister. We'll get back to you on that one," Scully said. "Thank you for your time, Sheriff Hutchins."

"No, thank you," he said politely. He stood for a moment, surveying the scene like he was reminiscing back to the week before, back when his town was more innocent. "Sick freak," he muttered.

The agents started walking back to their car, and as soon as they were out of Hutchins's earshot, Doggett spoke up. "You know, when I got on board the X-Files, I never knew we'd get to work with celebrities…"

"Very funny, Agent Doggett."

"I'm just a little concerned about how we're gonna arrest him, that's all. He is a zombie for crying out loud, and he's survived some twenty thousand sequels."

"Actually, it's only seven sequels," Scully said. "And, I highly doubt we're dealing with a zombie, or anything supernatural for that matter. I think that there was somebody out in these woods, perhaps dressed like Jason from the **Friday the 13th** movies, and he killed these kids. The harpoon Jaime claims to have scene was just a hallucination due to fear and drugs."

Doggett nodded thoughtfully. "That's what I was thinking, but why would someone kill two kids like this?"

"It's like I said earlier. Two teenagers in the woods, using drugs, and obviously about to engage in a sexual exploit; they pretty much painted a target on their heads and said 'kill me'. Haven't you ever seen a slasher movie, Agent Doggett?"

"Of course," he said, chuckling. "I watched them all the time with my son."

"You let your little boy watch those movies?" Scully asked, surprised. "I had you penned as the uptight, conservative father type."

"Well, we only watched the ones on network television. That way all the sex and most of the blood were taken out. You know, all the good stuff."

"Wasn't he scared though?"

"Nah, not really. We made fun of how dumb it was, usually, and if he did get scared, I was there to hold him until it was over. One time he told me he wasn't scared of Michael Myers because he knew if that guy showed up, his daddy would kick his ass." Doggett smiled sadly. "I felt really bad when I had to wash his mouth out with soap."

"I see," Scully said with a smile. "You sound like a good father."

Doggett looked away from her, not wanting her to see how much pain lied behind his eyes. As he climbed into the driver's side of their car, he almost muttered, "No, I'm not."

"So what are you going to do while I'm getting to know Jaime and Teddy?" Scully asked. 

Doggett put the car into drive. "I'll talk to the sister. See if she can give us any leads."


	3. John Doggett: Ladies' Man

411 Bernie Street

Advance, Virginia

2:14 PM

Doggett looked up at the house, making sure that the house number matched the one scribbled on the paper in his hand. He had gotten the address from the high school principal, who explained Jaime's sister was not at high school because she was in eighth grade. She wasn't at her middle school, though, because of the family crisis. Doggett shut the car off, stepped out, and walked up to the door. He knocked on it three times, and a pretty looking girl wearing a revealing tank top and shorts that barely covered her thighs, even though the weather was cool enough for Doggett to wear a jacket, opened the door.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Are you Caitlin, Jaime's sister?" he asked.

"Yes," she said. Her eyes seem to light up when she realized he was there to see her. She quickly looked him over, and though he could tell she had been crying, she seemed to smile. "Who wants to know?"

"I'm Special Agent John Doggett with the FBI," he said, flashing his badge. "I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding your sister's death."

"Sure," she said, giving a little nod. He thought he heard her giggle as well. "Why don't you, like, come in?" She held the door open for him, and he politely nodded and stepped inside. "My parents aren't here. They're off making what funeral arrangements they can. We're not sure when it's going to be, because the autopsy is like taking forever. I guess the person doing it is like incompetent or something. But anyway, my parents aren't here, and I like, have to be here all alone." She twirled one of her long curls and pouted.

Doggett had a quiet smile and gave a little nod.

"Would you like something to drink?" Caitlin asked. "We got cola or beer if you want…" 

"No thanks," Doggett replied. "Tell me, Caitlin, were you and your sister close?"

Caitlin nodded, and she again felt saddened. "Yeah. We were really close." She dropped down on her couch and rested her head in her hands. She sadly continued twirling a piece of hair as she continued. "We talked, like, all the time and we did everything we could together. She was a really, really great sister." Caitlin swallowed hard, not wanting to cry anymore.

"I see," Doggett said. "The sheriff said you talked to her moments before she died. Can you tell me anything about that?"

"Of course. I can tell you who did it. It was Jason."

"Jason Voorhees?"

"No, of course not. It was Jason Smith…dressed like Jason Vooris or whatever."

"Jason Smith?" 

"Yeah. He's like this total freak show in Jaime's class. He's all obsessed with horror movies and crap like that. He's like, one of those kids that listens to Marilyn Manson and doesn't go to church and dresses in all black sometimes. You know, the kind that shoot up their school. He's weird and scary. His little brother is in my grade. He's almost as weird too." 

"So what makes you think he killed your sister?"

"Because he's a freak! He's obsessed with horror movies, and Jaime says she saw someone dressed like Jason kill Teddy. Put two and two together and you like get five, er, I mean four. It's not that hard to figure out." To her, it was the most obvious thing in the world, even more obvious than Joey and Dawson belonging together.

Doggett nodded quietly. "I meant, why would he kill her? What motive"--Doggett realized that might be a big word to her—"or, uh, reason would he have to kill Teddy and your sister?"

"Oh, well, that's obvious too. See, they have this big dance at school on Halloween. Well, last week, he asked her to go with him. Oh my gosh, can you believe that? Why would she ever go out with a creep like him, you know? Especially since her and Teddy were getting ready to start dating, but I guess Jason never had a clue anyway. Anyways, she shot him down so he decided to get all upset about it. There's your motey."

"That's 'motive', actually. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me? Something that might help us with the case?"

"Well, I don't know. I might be forgetting something. I forgot to mention it was Jason Smith and not Jason Vooris or whatever to the policeman. I've…I've just been so, like, torn up over my sister's death." She breathed in deeply, and she shuttered with a sob. "My parents have been torn up too, so I've kind of just been on my own. Sometimes I wish…I just wish I had someone here to comfort me and hold me, and like tell me it'll all be okay." She buried her face in her hands, and she began to cry softly, making no attempt to hide her pain from Agent Doggett.

"Hey, now," Doggett said gently. He grabbed some tissue from the table and sat down on the couch next to her. He handed the tissue to her, and he gave her a little pat on the back as she dried her eyes. "It's going to be all right. I know what it's like to lose someone you love, but if you just hang in there, sometimes it doesn't hurt so bad." _What are you saying, John?_ He thought to himself. _You're lying like a dog._ "I promise you, we'll catch the punk that did this and send him away for a very long time."

She sniffled and looked up at him with her tear soaked, puppy dog eyes. "You promise?"

He smiled. "I cross my heart."

She threw her arms around him, pressing her head against his chest. "Thank you, so, so, so much!" she exclaimed.

"It's no problem. I'm just doing my job."

She continued hugging him, holding him tighter with each passing moment. She snuggled her head as close to him as she could, and she nuzzled his chest with her nose. Doggett began to feel uncomfortable about it, especially when her fingers started running up and down his back, and he, not knowing what else to do, awkwardly patted the girl on the head. "I really should be going," he said, hoping it would get him out of her clutches.

"Tell me, Agent Doggett," Caitlin said, pulling one of her hands away from him. "Are you married?" She set her hand on his thigh and gave it a little squeeze.

"All right," Doggett said, standing up. He'd had enough of her little game. "I'm going to be going." He started for the door, but she grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Wait!" she said. She slid around in front of him, and leaned over slightly, trying to get him to look down her shirt. Doggett just rolled his eyes at her. "I think a big, strong, handsome cop like yourself deserves a little…reward…" She ran her finger over his chest. "Don't you think?" she asked sweetly and sucked on her finger.

Doggett seized her hand. "I think that I'm old enough to be your father. And, I think if you were my kid, you'd be in your room with your nose in a school book instead of trying to seduce a man three times your age. Now, if you need anything, this is my cell phone number…" Doggett reached into his pocket and pulled out a note pad to write the number down, but he immediately realized giving her his number would be a bad idea. He decided to give her Scully's instead. "This is my partner's cell phone number," he said, giving her the paper. "If you need anything or come up with anything, just call us, all right?"

"Oh, I need something, all right," Caitlin said, fanning herself like it was 120 degrees in the room. She tried to grab his arm, and he pulled it away quickly. 

Doggett opened the door, but before he could get it closed, Caitlin asked, "Hey, could you tell me something?"

"Like what?" Doggett asked hesitantly.

"Your partner…is he as cute as you are?"

Doggett smiled, and he thought about it for a moment. "She's not bad," he said and left it at that.


	4. Kelly’s Café

Kelly's Café

Advance, Virginia

2:56 PM

Scully walked into the tiny café, and for a moment she smiled. It reminded her of a place she and Mulder and stopped at once. It was a small little shop, quite quaint, and there were only a few people dining and sipping coffee at this afternoon. Her partner was already sitting in a booth, twisting a coffee stirrer in his hands as he looked over the case folder for the thousandth time. He was determined to find something there they had overlooked. Scully took a moment to order coffee from the counter, she had a craving since before she started the autopsies, and she sat down across from Doggett with a mug in hand.

"Hey," she said, trying not to smile, "I just got a call on my cell phone. It was some teenage girl asking for an Agent Doggone-he's-hot. She sounded hot and bothered."

Doggett sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Hitting on the witnesses again, I see," Scully said. She was trying not to laugh.

"More like practically getting raped by them."

Scully laughed. "I'm sorry, John. I just couldn't help myself."

"It's all right."

"So did you find anything besides the John Doggett Fan Club?"

"Actually, we have a prime suspect now, and it's not Jason Voorhees."

"Oh, is it Michael Myers?"

"The actor or the serial killer?"

"Does it matter?"

"Actually," Doggett said as he laughed, "actually, it's a kid in Jaime and Teddy's class. Name's Jason Smith. Apparently Jaime's sister neglected to mention that she suspected Smith to the police. She just left them thinking it was a murderous zombie. Apparently, the kid is obsessed with horror films, which fits, and he was shot down by Jaime about a week ago."

"Aw, poor guy."

"I know. It's the story of my life too. Anyways, I'm thinking that out of jealousy he killed Teddy and then he killed her because she made him mad. Simple open and shut case, and I think we should be done with it after we question him." Doggett folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his seat. He smiled smugly, confident the job would be easy from here on out.

Scully, however, bit her lip hesitantly. "I wouldn't be so sure about that, Agent Doggett."

"And why's that?"

"Well, here, have a look at these." Scully threw some pictures from the autopsy on the table. "Now, looking at the blood work, things turned up like we expected. Drugs and alcohol were in their system, so I wasn't expecting to find much to support any thing out of the ordinary. Look at Jaime's neck."

"There's bruising."

"Yes, in the shape of thumbs. Huge thumbs at that. It appears she was strangled to death, and all other evidence, the slight caving of the lungs, is consistent with that."

"All right. So?"

"So, I thought I'd show you that before pulling out the weird part."

"Oh great."

Scully produced another set of pictures, this time from Teddy. "Okay, this is the before picture. Look at his neck. Do you see anything odd about it?"

"No. I don't see anything."

"I didn't either, but then I started to feel around it and accidentally stumbled over something. His neck, when I felt of it, it felt somehow…hollow, I guess you would say. So I decided to cut back the top layer of skin for a closer look." Scully slid a picture out from underneath the one she had just shown Doggett. "Notice anything odd now?"

"Did you cut him like this, Agent Scully?"

"No. I just cut back the epidermis. The rest…the rest is how he was when he came to us."

In the picture, the seventeen-year-old boy had the skin on the left side of his throat folded back. There was a hole, perfectly circular, that went all the way to the back of his neck. It was a clean hole, like a perfectly shaped handle had been pulled out of it.

About this time the waitress, who had been pouring coffee for the people on the other side of the café, came up to their table. "Excuse me, may I get you all anything?" she asked politely in a slight southern accent.

"Uh, no, I'm fine. Thank you," Scully said.

"I'm fine too," Doggett said.

"All right. Just holler if you need something," she said. She started to walk off, but the corner of her eye spied the photographs. "Oh! Pictures!" she exclaimed. "Are they of your kids?" Before Scully or Doggett could explain, she already had a picture in her hand. "Why, he's a handsome young…oh my god…" As soon as her face turned pale, it started turning green. She covered her hand over her mouth and threw the picture onto the table like the photo was on fire. "You are some sick people! Sick sick people! Just awful!" She flustered and started fanning her face with her hands.

"Calm down, ma'am," Scully said. She stood up and patted the woman on the arm.

"Don't touch me you awful…pervert! You awful pervert! You should be ashamed!"

"Actually, ma'am," Doggett began. "We're FBI agents. These are pictures from an autopsy that has to do with our investigation. It's about those local kids that were murdered about three days ago in the woods."

"Oh, well, I don't care who you are. You're still awful people. Cutting up an outstanding young man like Teddy Clark and then carrying around pictures of it. You people should be ashamed that you don't have more respect for a local legend than that. That boy was the best quarterback this county has seen in fourteen years!"

Scully sighed. "We're sorry, ma'am. We'll…try to be more respectful from now on." 

"Well you should be."

Scully rolled her eyes as the woman walked off muttering about what awful people that the two annoyed agents were.

"Well," Scully said as she sat back down, "where were we before all of that happened?"

"I think we were looking at the hole in this outstanding young drug addict's throat," Doggett said. "What do you think could have caused this?"

"Well…judging by the size of the hole, and the way it narrows and comes to a point near the back of the neck…I would guess that he was stabbed with a harpoon."

Doggett started to laugh. Scully, however, did not. He looked up at her, hoping to see a smirk to let him know she was kidding, but she merely shrugged her shoulders. "But that's impossible," he said. "How did a harpoon just pass through the skin without touching it but destroyed everything past it?"

"Well…I have a theory about that."

"What?"

"That there wasn't a harpoon at all." 

Doggett stared at her. He was "damned confused" again.

Seeing the lost look in her partner's eyes, Scully sighed, wondering the best way to explain it. "Did you ever see **The Matrix**?"

"Now Neo's a suspect?"

"No no no. Remember how things that happened in the Matrix were felt in the real world because if the brain thinks something is happening while in the Matrix, the brain makes it happen in the real world?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, I think that somehow Teddy here was so convinced that there was a madman shoving a harpoon through his throat that his brain actually killed off cells and moved tissue around because that's what it thought was happening. It's almost like a reverse placebo. Now, how the killer did this, I'm not sure. It could have been some kind of suggestive ability or some kind of telepathic ability. Those would be the most likely."

"So you're saying the killer talked this kid to death?"

Scully bit her lip for a moment, and nodded silently. "Or he may have thought him to death."

"I see." Now Doggett nodded slowly. "You know, that's a little out there."

"Do you have a better explanation for how he could have been killed with a phantom harpoon?"

Doggett started to say something, but instead just sighed. She was the experienced veteran, and he was still a rookie at this division. No matter how crazy it sounded, he didn't really have anything to argue with. "I guess we're looking for the person that has this ability then?"

"Yes, and I think Jason Smith is a good place to start."


	5. Jason Smith

624 Grant Street

Advance, Virginia

3:27 PM

After they had finished their coffee, it took only a few short phone calls to the police station and then the school (the police in the town were surprisingly ill equipped) to find Jason Smith's address. Judging by the beat up '92 Ford Tempo sitting in the yard of the otherwise excellently upkept house, it looked like he was home. 

Scully rang the doorbell, and a young man opened the door. He had messy black hair, a huge metal chain around his neck, and a black T-shirt that said Slipknot across the top. He looked like he had just woken up, and he rubbed his eyes sleepily. One of them was bruised, starting to turn yellow. "Yes?" he said.

"Jason Smith?" Scully asked.

"Yes, ma'am." He could tell by her tone and the way that she was dressed that she was someone that he should call _ma'am_.

"I'm Special Agent Dana Scully," she said flashing her badge. She began to introduce Doggett, but the boy cut her off.

"Dana Scully?" he asked, suddenly wide-awake. By the gleam in his eye, Scully could tell she had been recognized. She could not imagine how.

"Yes…?" she said, looking up at Doggett a little confused. He looked back the same way.

"_The_ Dana Scully? The one that was in that **Lazarus Bowl** movie?"

Scully hung her head in shame and sighed. "Yes. I'm that Dana Scully, sadly."

"I _love_ that movie. I must have watched it a thousand times. Too bad it's not an accurate portrayal of what you guys do, though."

"Pardon?" As surprised as she was to hear about that atrocity of a movie, the idea that this kid would know anything about the FBI took her back further.

"Oh, I read all about you and the X-Files on the Internet! You guys are like legends or something. You know, among geeks with no lives. Like me." He smiled.

"I see," Scully said.

"Oh!" Jason exclaimed, suddenly noticing Doggett. He looked like he could almost jump with joy. "If this is Agent Scully…" his voice sped up as he got more excited by the moment, "…then you must be Agent Fox Mulder! I must say, it is an honor to meet you, Mr. Mulder! An honor!" Jason exclaimed happily, extending his hand with great enthusiasm. Jason's excitement was at a fever pitch as Doggett reached out to shake the boy's hand.

"Actually," Scully said, "this isn't Agent Mulder. This is Special Agent John Doggett."

"Oh," Jason said sadly, not trying to mask his disappointment at all. His smile and eyes sunk. He was disappointed, and he pulled his hand away before Doggett could even shake it. 

"Nice to meet you too," Doggett muttered under his breath as Jason told them to make themselves at home.

"Hey, who's here?" a small voice asked. The voice's owner, a boy about thirteen years old, walked into the room. He also had black hair, a metal necklace, and a Slipknot T-shirt. He looked like a small clone of Jason, and when he saw the two professional looking adults in his living room, he hung his head down sheepishly, like he had just been asked to stand up in front of a crowd of his peers.

"Hello," Scully said. 

The boy said nothing. Blushing was his only reply.

"This is my little brother Bobby," Jason said, knowing how hard it was for the boy to speak to new people. "Bobby, this is Special Agents Dana Scully and John Doggett."

Bobby's eyes widened for a moment. "_The_ Dana Scully?" he asked in a hushed awe.

"Oh yeah!" Jason said. He smiled smugly. It wasn't every day they had a celebrity in their house.

"Wow," Bobby said, again in awe. Scully suddenly felt like she was bigger than Michael Jordan, and she could not help but blush as she smiled.

Doggett, slightly irked at Scully and Mulder's fame, decided to move things along. "Do you mind if we sit down? We have some questions we'd like to ask you."

"I have a pretty good idea what this is about. It's kind of all over school," Jason said. His eyes were sad, worried, and distant, but he forced a small pathetic laugh out of his lungs. He laughed to keep his head on straight. "Go ahead and have a seat."

Bobby, Scully noticed, was standing as close to his brother as he could—too close for it just be admiration. He was trying to protect him. Bobby acted as if he wanted to grab hold of his brother and never let him out of his sight, as if that would somehow keep him from going to jail. It was obvious it was on Bobby's mind. The way he wouldn't look at her or Doggett, and the way he pushed himself as close to Jason as possible when they sat down on the couch.

"Actually," Scully said as Doggett took a seat across from Jason, "Bobby, how would you like to show me your room?"

"Uhh…?" the boy said hesitantly. He looked up at Scully, not really understanding the question.

"So Agent Doggett and your brother can talk," Scully added, realizing Bobby was too old for that trick. She wasn't use to working with children.

Bobby looked at his brother for a moment, then he glanced back at Scully. He looked to his brother again, worried about what would happen if he left Jason's side.

"It'll be all right," Scully said. "They're just going to talk, and they could use some privacy to do so. Agent Doggett doesn't bite, I promise."

Bobby still made no movement, but Jason gave him a nudge with his elbow. "Go on, Bobby. Do like the agent asks."

Bobby sighed, but he did as his brother and Agent Scully asked, and he led her to his room. The room was covered wall to wall in posters of various music groups. Marilyn Manson, Slipknot, Mudvayne, Alice in Chains, Foo Fighters, Nirvana, Metallica, Anthrax—those were just one wall. On a shelf, he had a collection of videotapes, including the **Friday the 13th** collection, several different versions of **Night of the Living Dead**, the **Scream** trilogy, **Evil Dead**, **Army of Darkness**, and several other such movies. In the corner of his room he had a TV and a Playstation, and the complete **Resident Evil** series was spread out across the floor in front of them.

Scully blinked for a moment at how dark the room seemed. How had Doggett said the sister described Bobby and Jason? Weird?

Bobby hopped onto his bed and sat with his legs dangling over the side as he fiddled with an action figure he'd left lying there. Scully didn't recognize the figure, but it was a man dressed in all red with horns like a devil. It had DD written on its chest.

"So is Slipknot your favorite band or something?" Scully asked.

Bobby shook his head.

He was making her work for his words. "You like them a lot though, right?"

He shook his head again.

"You have their shirt and their poster, and by glancing at the dresser over there you have their CDs."

He looked up to follow her gaze to the discs and said, "Those are my brother's. I don't even like them." He hung his head down for a moment and added, "They kind of scare me."

"I see," Scully said, craftily moving in like a fox trying to wrest eggs a mother bird. "Does your brother do a lot of things that scare you?" she asked gently.

Bobby shook his head. "No. My brother doesn't do anything that scares me. It's just some of the stuff he likes. He's a good person."

"I see," Scully said. "Does your brother ever talk to you about the kids at his school?"

"Jason didn't kill anybody," Bobby said bluntly, sounding annoyed that she was beating around the bush. He hung his head down and looked away from her as soon as he said it, ashamed that he had risen his voice, but she was getting on his nerves. Why couldn't she just come out with it? "I know that's why you're here. The kids at school made fun of me today and picked on me because Caitlin Thompson told them he killed her sister. That's a lie."

"Why would Caitlin lie like that?"

"Caitlin's a bitch. She's mean, and she's a bitch to me and my friends."

"I see," Scully said and ignored the profanity. "Well, I don't think Caitlin is lying on purpose. There seems to be an awful lot of reason to suspect your brother is involved somehow, Bobby."

"Well, he didn't kill them," Bobby said, choking on his words. His shoulders heaved as he drew in a breath bigger than he was, and he looked up at her, trying to fight back tears. "Agent Scully, please, you have to believe me," his voice begged. It was connected to a string on her heart. "He didn't kill them. He would never, ever, not in a million years do something like that. Please, Agent Scully…don't send my brother to jail. Please."

Scully sighed, using the moment as time to think of what she should say. Always bright, the words came to her quickly. "Bobby, we're going to find who killed Jaime Thompson and her boyfriend, and if Jason didn't do it, then we're going to do everything in our power to prove his innocence. Is that all right?"

Bobby nodded. He sniffled as he wiped his eyes on the back of his hands. Seeing him do so, Scully pulled a tissue from her pocket. She had gotten into the habit of carrying them since her hormones tended to flare up now and then. She offered it to the boy, and he took it with a small, "Thank you."

She nodded in reply. "Well, I think I'm going to go see if Doggett is through questioning your brother. I have some questions that I'd like to ask him too."

Bobby nodded. "Don't be hard on him, all right?"

Scully smiled. "I won't be."

"Good." She started to walk away, but as she stepped foot in the hall, Bobby called her back. "Yes?" she said as she stepped back into his room.

"It's nothing really," he said. He looked smaller now for some reason, and he wiped his nose with the tissue. "I'm, uh, sorry I rose my voice at you."

* * *

"He's all yours, Agent Scully," Doggett said. Scully had timed it just right, and Doggett was done questioning Jason when she appeared in the room for the changing of the guard. 

Scully nodded. "The brother's room is down the hall and the last door on the right, if you want to question him too."

"Actually," Doggett started, patting his hands on his pants, "I was wanting to check out Jason's room. You know, just sort of look around like, if that's all right, Jason. I won't touch anything. I just want a look."

"Sure," Jason said, shrugging. "That's fine, but it's a little messy. I only clean once a year."

Scully did not sit down as Doggett walked off. Before she began speaking, she watched Jason for a moment as he fidgeted nervously. He was uncomfortable, squirming—possibly from guilt, but Scully could not prove that. At least, she could not prove it just yet. "How did your talk with Agent Doggett go?" she asked.

"It went well. He's a bit hard-nosed, but he's nice."

"I see. What did he ask you?" She walked about the room, thinking over Jason's answers as he gave them.

"Oh, the usual. If I had an alibi, if I could verify it, what my relationship was to the deceased, where my parents are at…"

"Where are your parents at anyway?" 

"Oh, Dad's at work still. He gets off at five. Mom's…well, she's been dead for the last thirteen years. She…she died after giving birth to Bobby."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah, well, we get along all right without her."

Scully nodded. The time for small talk was over. It was now time to go to work. "Jason, you said you're familiar with the X-Files, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How familiar?"

"Not very, I guess. I mainly just heard some stories. They're just kind of urban legend type stuff. I did read about that human leach thing that lived in the sewers."

"I see. So I take it you believe in the existence of the paranormal?"

Jason chuckled. "Well…not all of it."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Well, I mean…stuff that like sucks the blood out of goats…that's crap, and so are things like vampires, but stuff like extraterrestrials or ghosts or telekinesis, even telepathy…I believe in all that."

Scully nodded. "Why telepathy?"

Jason shrugged. "I dunno. It just seems to make sense, you know?"

"I see," she said. Suddenly her face brightened as she laughed quietly. She meant only to laugh to herself, but the idea of her actually speaking these words struck her as hilarious. "So…do you have any paranormal abilities, Jason?"

Jason laughed. "No, ma'am, I don't. I wish I did, though."

"Well, now I'm curious."

"Well," he said, blushing a little. "Sometimes, you know, I wish I had just a little something to give me an edge against people."

"I see," she said. She had been looking over his face, especially the yellowing bruise. "Do you get picked on a lot at school?"

"Sometimes…"

"Is that where you got that black eye?"

"I got that today."

"How?"

"Well, it's all over school about what happened to Teddy and Jaime. Some of Teddy's football buddies jumped me in the hall. One of them worked me over while the others held me down. It wasn't a very fun time."

"Did they hurt you badly? I'm a doctor, so if there's anything you think needs to be looked at…"

"Nah, I'm okay. They just bruised a couple of ribs and an eye, that's all. The teacher put a stop to it pretty fast this time."

Scully nodded, not having anything more to say. She let her eyes wander around the room, as she had done before in Bobby's, and they fell onto a row of pictures set on top of a bookshelf. There were three pictures, each in a neat little frame. In the first one, Jason and Bobby were about ten and six, posing next to Mickey Mouse at Disneyland. The second one showed the boys about two years later building a sandcastle on the beach. The last one looked faded and worn, but it was obviously the most loved. Scully picked the picture up for a closer look. There was a woman who Scully assumed was their mother, and she was holding a newborn Bobby. She looked tired, broken, and half-dead, but she was smiling. She was happy as a proud father and an equally proud Jason looked on at the miracle in her hands. Scully smiled and marveled at how a woman so close to death could be so happy just because of the tiny person in her arms. She wondered if that was how her baby would make her feel.

"I like that picture a lot too," Jason said, moving over to her side. "Mom looks really good when you consider everything that happened."

As the boy sighed sadly, Scully could feel his breath brush against her hand. She started to put the picture back, but Jason stopped her with a laugh. 

"What's so funny?" Scully asked.

"It's Bobby in that picture. I mean, look at his head. It's huge."

"Yeah, it is unusually large, even for a newborn."

"I know. It's like Mom just gave birth to an alien or something."

Bang.

Gave birth to an alien. They were innocent words, a perfectly harmless comment, but they struck Dana Scully like a knife. Jason might as well have loaded a gun, put the barrel to Scully's chest, and pulled the trigger—it would have been more pleasant. Gave birth to an alien. For a moment, Dana Katherine Scully was a dead woman, not unlike Jason's mom; all the color was gone from her face, her heart stopped beating, and her body froze all over with a terrible cold. Like an icicle shattering against concrete on a miserable winter day, Dana Scully's world ceased to exist, and a paralyzing fear crept over her and welled, especially in her belly, where a stranger was growing inside of her.

Gave birth to an alien. Bang.

Scully, stubborn Scully, rarely showed her true feelings even to those she trusted and cared about; once again she put on her brave mask and fooled everyone into believing nothing was wrong. "Ha, an alien," she muttered.

"Yeah, if he wasn't so much like me, I'd almost believe he was alien too. There's this field not too far out of town on Old Miller's Road where supposedly there was a crop circle several years ago. I've seen some weird lights over it once or twice too."

Scully nodded quietly, because if she spoke too much, her mask might slip off and shatter. She saw that, like a cold, lifeless statue, her partner was standing at the hallway, and Scully eagerly took any reason she could to leave. "Well, Jason, thank you for your time," she said.

"Sure," he said. "No problem."

"We'll be in touch."

With that, they said their goodbyes, told Jason they would probably question him more, and walked out to their car.

* * *

"He didn't do it," Doggett said as they started off down the road.

"I agree," Scully replied. "What's your reason?"

"Well, for starters, if you look at the picture of Jaime's neck, you see that a man with huge hands has strangled her. Jason Smith has little hands. Also, even if he had a harpoon, Jason Smith doesn't look like the type to win a struggle against anybody with an athletic background; I would say captains of the cheerleading squad and football team have athletic backgrounds."

"It also doesn't 'fit'," Scully added. "Even if Jaime did reject him and the kids at school picked on him, it's more likely that he would take those negative feelings out on himself. With a few highly covered exceptions, kids like that are rarely driven to murder because they kill themselves first."

"Basically all we have against him is motive. We don't have any hard evidence, and don't you think it's just a little suspicious?"

"As in, why would this kid commit a murder where everything points back to him and then not expect to be caught?"

"Exactly. There's too much stuff that points to him, but there's nothing concrete. You know, it's almost like somebody's trying to frame this kid."

"I got that feeling too, but why would anyone do that?"

"I'm not sure, really. Maybe there's a third boy that has the 'hots' for this Jaime girl. He sees Teddy with her and sees Jason ask her out, and it drives him over the edge. He decides that if he can't have her, no one will. So he kills Jaime and Teddy then frames up Jason to teach them all a lesson."

"That's plausible," Scully said, nodding, "but let's think about this for a moment. All that we know about this case that points to Jason as the culprit…where did it come from?"

Doggett's eyes widened as if saying 'of course!' "It came from Jaime's sister Caitlin. Why didn't I think of that?"

With a small laugh, Scully replied, "Well, John, you're no Agent Mulder."


	6. Other Scary Monsters

The Moonlight Hotel

152 Evergreen Ave.

Advance, VA

11:37 PM

Doggett and Scully went by the Thompson house twice trying to get a hold of Caitlin. She was out with friends 'mourning', so after the second try, with their stomachs empty, the agents decided to call it a night. They stopped by a fast food restaurant for a burger or two then settled in to their rooms at the only hotel in town. 

Scully could have used these quiet moments to relax or even watch a little TV, but she sat on the end of the bed typing away at her laptop, the screen getting a blurrier with each passing moment. Her eyelids were gaining weight, and she rubbed sleep out of her eyes every now and then. There was no sound in the room except for the steady clicks of her fingers dancing over the keyboard and the occasional crunching of potato chips in her mouth. She did not know why, but for some reason the baby had a strange craving for sour cream and onion Lays.

Scully paused for a moment, and she looked over the crime scene and autopsy pictures she had scattered across the bed. There was a lot of information she needed to get down, and it helped her to organize her thoughts if she typed the crime report as she went along with the case. When she turned her attention back to the screen, her eye immediately caught the flashing message that told her she had a new email.

Curious, she opened up her inbox to see what had arrived. It was her personal account, and she usually did not get much email. That happens when one doesn't have many friends. She opened the message, and it read:

To: Dana Scully (dscully@brasnet.org)

From: "Sex God" Ringo Langly (joeylives@fethcom.net)

Subject: Hot Spots

Byers just got word that there is a hot bed of UFO activity in the Midwest right now. Most of it seems to be centered around Missouri, but there seems to be some of it down in Arkansas as well. I always take Arkansas sightings with a grain of salt (they tend to get anal probing confused with…okay, I don't have a punchline…). Anyway, we're heading over there to see if we can pick up anything on Mulder. Just thought I'd let you know that we haven't given up on our buddy yet.

-Langly

Scully smiled weakly. What few friends she did have were loyal ones, at least. Still, that did not ease the emptiness inside her. It wouldn't change the fact that her best friend was still missing. Her eyelids were still heavy as boulders, and she let them close for a moment. As she did, she laughed at her weakness. She could almost feel him right there with her…

"Sleep well?" Scully asked. She was standing in Doggett's motel room as he straightened his tie in the mirror.

"Well enough," he replied. He struggled and fought with the knot, and the knot kept winning. 

"That's good," Scully said.

"Aw, damn it," Doggett said, yanking the tie off his neck. "Will you excuse me for a moment?" he said.

"Sure," Scully replied as Doggett walked into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him, but she could still hear his muffled swearing through it. She chuckled at her partner and sat down on the bed. His room was about as nice as hers, which is to say it wasn't that nice at all. At least it was clean, which is more than she could say for a lot of hotel rooms she had been in over the years. It was funny though; she could always tell when a room had high smoker traffic, because the cigarette smell would never go away.

__

Wait…she thought. The cigarette smell was strong, awfully strong. It was too strong for it to be days, or even hours old. Over the years, she had developed an anxiety over cigarette smoke, and she was alert as the hairs of her neck stood on end. She glanced around the room suspiciously, and immediately her eyes fell on the ashtray on the nightstand. The tray was covered in ashes, and a cigarette was still smoldering in it.

"Doggett, I didn't know you smoked," Scully said. She had moved over to the bathroom door, but she did not take her eyes off the smoking cigarette.

"I don't," Doggett called back.

"Well, who was just in here smoking?" Scully asked.

"Uh, no one. No one's been in my room unless the maid came in while I went for a morning jog."

No maid would put out a cigarette in a guest's room. No maid would discard her empty carton in the trash without taking the bag out either. Scully realized this as her eyes fell into the brown tin. On top of some tissues and a paper towel was an empty cigarette box. The brand?

They were Morleys.

"Where the hell is he?" Scully muttered, looking around the room again. He obviously wasn't in there anymore, and she stormed into the hall, her eyes darting back and forth, left and right, all around trying to catch sight of the demon. "Where the hell are you?" she muttered again. The hotel lobby was empty except for the receptionist**;** there weren't many people staying at the hotel. Scully walked up the woman behind the desk and, frantic, asked, "Did you see a man just now smoking a cigarette?" She noticed the smoldering butt in the ashtray.

"He went that way, Agent Scully," the woman said, pointing towards the doors. Scully almost kicked them down as she stepped outside like a hurricane battering against a helpless coastal town. 

"All right, where are you?" Scully asked. The cold morning breeze didn't answer her, so she shouted again. "Where the hell are you, you cigarette-smoking-son-of-a-bitch?"

"Why, I'm right here, Dana." The voice was like spiders crawling down the back of your neck as you sit in a dark abandoned barn, waiting for day to break because you're scared of what's in the night. It was the voice of a manipulative dictator, a child tearing the wings off flies, and the serpent that tempted Eve.

"What the hell do you want?" Scully asked, turning around slowly. Her stare was cold, intense, and her hand itched to reach for her gun and wipe that smug grin off his cigarette puffing face.

"I want only what you want. For you to be happy." He drug on the cigarette, the smoke billowing around his head like a warped, twisted halo.

"How about you give me a good reason not to kill you where you stand?"

"All right," he said coolly. "Look behind you."

"This is some kind of trick."

"No. No trick, Agent Scully. Just look."

Scully, suspicious, knew better than to trust him, to trust Lucifer after his fall. But his craft was manipulation; he was a master of it. By tempting her curiosity, he got her eyes to glance over her shoulder. "What the…?" she muttered, staring up at what had once been the hotel. Now, instead of the Moonlight Hotel, she saw a government building--sleek, metallic, black glass all around it. It seemed to stretch up for miles and miles and touch the surface of the sun.

As she stood, staring in awe and disbelief, the smoking man walked up to her and placed his hand gently on her shoulder, as if he was comforting a small child. "You know, Mulder's in there."

"You lie. You're a liar," Scully said. She defied the lump in her throat and kept her voice from cracking.

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you the truth. The truth, Agent Scully, isn't that what you still seek? Isn't that what Mulder has devoted—squandered—his life to finding? Why, what would he think if you turned your back on something you have both suffered so much for?" His voice had a practiced rhythm to it, as if he dreamed night and day of just messing with her head and turning her life upside down.

"What's this about?"

"I told you. It's about your happiness, Dana. Having Mulder back will make you happy, won't it? Go to the fifteenth floor. He's at the end of the hall."

"It's a trap."

"It's the truth. If I was you, I wouldn't keep him waiting." The smoking man took a long, eternal drag on his cigarette before he added, "He might not be there for long."

For one of the few times in her life, Agent Scully threw all rational thought aside, and she bolted through the doors of the building. She could see no people in sight, and she knew she had just walked into a trap, but that did not matter to her as her feet landed on the flight of stairs that seemed to twist and wind upwards for eternity. She ran up them, neither her high heels nor her ever-growing belly slowing her down in the least. Even though each flight she passed made the burdensome baby inside of her feel heavier and heavier, she kept going until finally, exhausted and panting, she reached the fifteenth floor.

At the end of the hallway, some thirty feet from her, she could see a shadow. It was a man, but she could not make out his face. He was Mulder's height though, and he was standing the way Mulder always stood. His body twitched when she laid eyes on him, and she knew he recognized her too.

"Mulder!" she shouted, and suddenly her strength was renewed. "Mulder, I'm here!" She began running again, stumbling as she went but she kept going, towards the figure at the end of the hall. With each step she took, with each gasping breath she drew in, the figure, the man she knew was Mulder, kept getting farther and farther away. Still, she pressed on. After much persistence, it seemed he was getting nearer. She was almost there, but he was still cloaked in shadows. She ran faster, and finally she was getting somewhere. She reached her hand out to touch his, and he reached out his in return. She was almost there. She could almost touch him.

"No!" she shouted. "No, damn it, no!" she shouted as hands, hands like snakes choking a mouse grabbed her and drug her backwards down the hall. "No!" she pleaded. All the hands belonged to men dressed as doctors. She did not recognize any of them, and she didn't care what they wanted. "No! I want to see him! I need to see him!" she shouted at them. "Damn it, can't you understand me?" she shouted right in one of the men's faces.

"I can understand you, Dana, but who are you talking about?" the doctor asked.

"I'm talking about him!" she said. She looked up to where the figure was standing, and she realized he was gone. Like a snowflake melting in her hand, he was there, and then he wasn't. "No," she gasped. "No, this can't be. This can't be real. This isn't happening," she muttered, biting her lip as all of her hope died a slow and agonizing death.

"Shh, Dana, it's all right," another man reassured her. He was dressed as a doctor too. "You're just having hallucinations from the drugs we gave you. You'll be fine. We're just going to take you to the delivery room and get your baby to you safe and sound."

"What are you…" Scully started to ask, but then she looked down. Her belly had swollen in size to three times what it had been, and she realized she was on a stretcher being carted into a white washed, empty looking room. The men stood around her, scaring her and terrifying her beyond words, but they all assured her everything would be all right. Everything would be fine, they said over and over until it no longer sounded like words.

"Come on, Dana, push!" a nurse said.

Pain unlike any Scully had felt before overcame her. Not knowing what else to do, she did as she was told. It was like someone had taken a wrench, shoved it inside of her, and started pulling at whatever it could get a hold of. She pushed for all she was worth, and each time it felt like everything inside of her was going to come out with the baby. Then, as quickly as it began, it was all over.

"Oh, what a lovely little boy you have, Mom," the nurse said as she wrapped the baby in blankets.

Scully laughed and cried at the same time. There was her baby, safe and sound, being cleaned up by the nurse. "Can I…can I hold him?" she asked. Each passing second seemed like a lifetime as long as the baby was not in her arms.

"Yes, of course," the nurse said, smiling like the sweetest of angels. She handed the tiny bundle to Scully, and the new mother cried. She was so happy. She knew it would be a blessed occasion, but she had no idea she would feel like this. It was the happiest single moment in her entire life, and she stared down at her precious little miracle with such awe and amazement. Just holding him in her arms was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and that made her cry even harder.

"I promise, I'll do my best to raise and take care of you, little one. I'll love you and cherish you forever," she said, stumbling over the words as she choked on tears. She began to pull the blanket away so she could marvel at his tiny, perfect face. "I love you, son," she said, and she pulled the blanket away.

Staring back at her were two bulbous, cat like eyes. They were black, black as oil, and they made it clear that this baby had no soul. The baby, seemingly producing it out of thin air, lit up a cigarette and stuck it in his mouth. "I love you too, Mom," he said, and laughed like a maniac howling at the moon.

Scully shrieked as she popped up from her bed. She almost knocked her laptop to the floor. Her shirt and pants were stuck to her body with cold sweat, and her arms and legs trembled and shook all over. She rubbed her head and sighed. "It was all a dream, Dana," she said, realizing she had dozed off while working. She glanced at the clock and saw it was getting close to one in the morning. "It was all a dream," she said once more, even though she knew no words could stop her heart from beating up her chest. She reached over to her nightstand, her hand searching for the cup of water she had set there several hours earlier. Her hands fumbled the cup, and it dropped to the floor. It was empty. 

"That's okay. I wanted a Pepsi anyway," she muttered, and she stood up. When she did, she noticed that on the nightstand, somebody had left a map of the small town. She didn't waste any time over it, and she made sure her key was in her pocket, and she stepped out into the hall.

"Good morning, Agent Scully," a half-dead Doggett said.

"Hello," she replied. "What are you doing out here?"

"I couldn't sleep and thought I could go for a Pepsi. Yourself?"

"Same thing. Why couldn't you sleep?"

Doggett sighed. "Nightmare. You?"

"Same thing," Scully said. She wanted to smile. They said nothing as they both walked down the hall. They each felt less sluggish with each step, and they were fully alert by the time they came back their doors with Pepsis in hand.

"You know, there's not really much point in us going back to our rooms to lose a battle to insomnia," Scully said as Doggett was trying to find his key. "I could really use some fresh air."

"You read my mind," Doggett said with a smile. "Where do you want to go?"

Remembering the map and what Jason told her, Scully smiled back at him. "Oh, I have an idea."


	7. Suspicious Minds

__

We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out  
because I love you too much baby  
  
Why can't you see, what you're doing to me  
When you don't believe a word I say.  
  
We can't go on together, with suspicious minds  
And we can't build our dreams, on suspicious minds  


Old Miller's Road

1:13 AM

Doggett put the car in park and looked around his surroundings. There was a road, some fields, and there were houses that were on the other side of a wasteland like field. The night was nice if a bit cold—the stars were shining like millions of fireflies dancing across the heavens—but there was nothing special about this place. It was nothing he could see anyway. 

"So what's up with this field?" Doggett asked, stepping out of the car. Scully had already shut her door.

"Why does there have to be something up with the field?" Scully replied. The coy smile that crossed her lips told Doggett that she was hiding something, that she was being intentionally vague. As she positioned herself on the trunk of the car, his curiosity grew. He didn't have to say anything because, with the moonlight, she could see suspicion in his face. "You…you would laugh if I told you," she said, blushing like a schoolgirl.

"I won't laugh. Try me."

"Well…Mr. Smith said that this place has a history of some UFO activity."

"Oh, so that's what this is about," Doggett said. He laughed, and it made Scully laugh too. 

"I told you that you would laugh at me."

"No, no, I'm not laughing at you," Doggett said. "I just can't get over how you UFO nuts can just drag people to the middle of nowhere at all hours of the night just because someone saw flashing lights." 

"I'm not a UFO nut, I just…I just thought this would be a good place to come and think, to get some fresh air," Scully said. She played with her hands and looked up at the stars. Truth was, she wasn't sure what she was anymore. Believer…skeptic…did she even still believe in God? She stared at the stars only for a moment, looking to them for an answer. Then she turned to the ground because she didn't like the answer they gave. They reminded her of something she did not want to remember, and Doggett knew exactly what it was.

"We're going to find him, you know," he said, quietly leaning against the car and next to his partner. "I promise you that we'll find him."

Scully wiped her eyes, more out of habit than because of tears. "I know you're doing your best," she said. "I just…I had a dream tonight that I came so close to seeing him. I could have almost touched him, but then he was taken away from me. I'm…I'm so afraid that's what's really going to happen. That I'll never see him again."

"You will though. We'll find him."

Scully sighed and patted Doggett on the hand. She knew in her heart that Doggett believed in what he was saying, that he thought he was promising her the truth. She appreciated his dedication and strength, but she knew that his promise was one destined to be broken. "I know," she lied, nodding her head. "I just…I miss him so much."

"I understand," he said. Things got quiet between the two of them, and there was no noise except for the occasional croak of frogs in the distance. In silence, they stared up at the stars; the stars stared back at them, though they were oblivious to the agents' existence. 

"How many of us are like stars?" Scully asked out of nowhere.

"What do you mean?" Doggett asked.

"Well, look at them. Here we are on earth, and they are completely unaware that we're sitting here, staring back at them. How many times do we go through life, going about our business, oblivious to what's going on in the lives of the people around us? How many times do we actually stop to take notice, to realize that what people see in us is the culmination of years and years, and that what we do today is not fully seen nor appreciated until the future? How many people go through life burning brighter and brighter or how many people just have that occasional flash of brilliance; yet there's so many people, nobody notices when we burn out and die?"

Doggett shook his head. "I think that maybe…" he started, hesitating as he tried to string his words together as eloquently as she had. He knew that was futile, so he just said what he thought. "I think that every once in a while you get a star, or a life, that is different from the others. Take the North Star for instance. When it burns out and dies, people are going to notice because it's different from the others. Sure, it's still made out of the same stuff, but it's affected people's lives more. Even if it didn't know it was doing so. It'll be missed because it's touched the lives of people."

Scully smiled. She missed having these types of talks with Mulder, and talking with Doggett helped a little. They continued watching the stars, and again the conversation slowly faded into the quiet fall air. The stars twinkled and blinked at them, and the wind passed over their bodies causing them to draw their jackets tighter. The frogs kept croaking, but it was late for them too, and one by one they started to quiet down. 

"May I ask what your dream was about, Agent Doggett?"

Scully's words caught Doggett off guard. 

"Aw, you don't want to hear about it. It's kind of a downer."

"Yes I do."

"Nah, it'll just depress you."

"I don't think that's possible anymore. Besides, I told you about mine. You have to tell me about yours. It's a rule or something."

Doggett chuckled distantly. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"I insist."

"It's about Luke."

"Go on."

"Well…" Doggett said with a sigh. "It's a few years back, so I'm still a cop for the NYPD. I'm chasing this guy through an abandoned warehouse or something, and I'm doing a pretty decent job of keeping up, but I can't make no ground on him. I chase him up a flight of stairs and across some catwalks, and then he rounds a corner. And for a second, I lose him. I follow him, and I see him, outlined in shadow, holding a gun. He's got it pointed at me, so instinctively I tell him to drop his weapon and point my gun at him. When he doesn't, I warn him some more, and I pull the trigger. He falls, but he doesn't scream or groan. Instead, he starts crying. He just starts this pitiful, whimper like crying.

"I walk up to see what's wrong with him, and I realize it's not a man I've shot at all. It's an eight-year-old boy. It's Luke, and he's…he's holding a toy gun. I look around, and I realize I'm not in a warehouse or anything like that…I'm in my backyard. We were playing cops and robbers, and I guess I was the robber…and…

"God… I pick him up and I hold him against my chest, hugging him so close to me that I can feel his little body struggle for each one of its last breaths. So I start pounding on him, breathing in his mouth, doing everything I can to try to keep him alive. Then he just looks at me with these big, stunned, betrayed eyes of his that say, 'How could you do this to me, Dad?' And then…then he dies." Doggett looked down, drawing in a long, sad breath of cold autumn air. "He always dies."

Scully put her hand on Doggett's shoulder, and he leaned his face against it quietly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose a child."

"It's funny. Sometimes I can't either," Doggett said. He was in a trance. Though he was looking at a million stars and the houses outlined against them, he saw nothing but a little boy losing faith in his daddy. "Sometimes, in the morning, just before I wake up, it's like I can hear him calling my name. It's like he's telling me to get up so he can go watch cartoons… Then I wake up, and I realize it was dream. It's all one sick, damn dream."

Scully, though she was no stranger to loss, had no words for John Doggett. She knew nothing she said would be appropriate, nothing she could say would ease his pain. So she said nothing, and merely kept her hand on his shoulder, reassuring him that there was at least one person in the world that noticed his life and would support him until he burned out.

"I told you it was a downer," he said, with a small laugh.

She nodded, and they spent several minutes in silence. Even their thoughts, for once in their lives, were quiet, and their demons stayed put; they did not haunt the agents on this morning. 

Eventually, one of them would have to break the silence. Scully was the one to do so. "This reminds me of the…I guess it was the second or third assignment I had with Agent Mulder."

"How's that?"

"Well, we went to check out this report from the wife of this air force pilot. He had come down with some strange illness, some kind of amnesia or senility, something like that. Mulder, in his own Mulder way, deduced that it was acquired by test piloting an aircraft with alien technology. So eventually we end up outside of this air base, staring up at the sky for hours, waiting for some kind of sign, and the whole time I couldn't help but think, 'Why am I wasting my time with this bozo? Who did I upset at the Bureau to deserve this?' I guess it's kind of funny how things eventually worked out between that bozo and me."

"So did you ever see anything?"

"Actually, we did. There were lights, two of them. They hovered in the air, then did maneuvers impossible for any aircraft I'm aware of, then they danced up into the sky like angels ascending into Heaven."

"So that's when you started believing in UFOs?"

"Actually," Scully said, drawing it out, "I still think they were lasers…"

Doggett laughed, and Scully patted him on the back. "Are you as tired as I am, Agent Doggett?"

"Yeah. This cold country air did me some good; I think I can get back to sleep now," he said. 

Scully hopped off the car and walked over to the passenger's seat. Doggett made his way to the driver's side, but, after he opened the door, he didn't sit down. He hesitated for a moment, thinking something over. After rolling the idea around in his head, he sat down and asked Scully, "Isn't it kind of strange that we both had dreams about our worst nightmares at the same time tonight?"

"I'll admit it's kind of odd."

"Do you think it means anything?"

"Well…Mulder once said that a dream is an answer to a question we haven't yet learned how to ask."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that I think it means that we both just needed somebody to talk to." She smiled, and the moonlight lit up her face, hiding the dark circles under her eyes, and making her look more beautiful than usual.

Doggett said nothing, only nodding with a smile as he started to car. With the engine, the radio came on, and Doggett quietly exclaimed, "Hey, could you turn it up? I like this song."

Scully smiled. She liked it as well; it reminded her of an Elvis fan she knew.

__

So, if an old friend I know, drops by to say hello  
Would I still see suspicion in your eyes?  
  
Here we go again, asking where I've been  
You can't see these tears are real, I'm crying  
  
We can't go on together, with suspicious minds  
And be can't build our dreams, on suspicious minds  


And as the two FBI agents in their rental car started off down the dusty road, two stars seemed to sigh with relief and say, "They _finally_ left." They twinkled, like they were stretching from being still too long, and moved closer towards each other. They hovered about, playing tag in the sky, and then they danced off like angels ascending into the heavens.

* * *

Thompson House

3:13 AM

Caitlin Thompson strained her ears, struggling to hear if the noise repeated itself. She swore she heard a scratching at her window, but when she opened her eyes, the noise stopped. She told herself it was just a cat or the wind, but somehow she knew it wasn't. She knew it couldn't be a cat or the wind, that something evil was outside her bedroom window. Now that she was alert and waiting for it, it would not make its presence known again. It had been silent for a whole two minutes, and she was finally starting to convince herself that it had, indeed, been nothing. She laid her head back down on her pillow and rolled over to go back to sleep.

Skkrrrritch. Skkriiiitch!

The scratching, like metal nails being dragged across the glass, was back. Caitlin sat up, her back already covered in cold sweat, and her heart was beating itself senseless against her chest. She looked at the window, straining to see a silhouette against the moonlight. 

She couldn't see anything, but she had to know if something was there. Slowly, as if the carpet was made of burning coals, she eased herself out of bed, swallowing hard each moment another toe touched the floor. She forced herself out of bed, and she crept, oh so quietly, towards the window. Her mind began to conjure up all kinds of images she had seen in movies of masked men, murderous men, lurching outside of bedroom windows. With each step, each time she moved closer to the window, she expected the glass to shatter and a terrifying beast to lunge out. 

"I know it's you, Jason," she said, picking up a curling iron from her dresser. She held it like it was a Louisville Slugger. "You're not scaring me," she said as her voice caught in her throat. She was at the window now, leaning against the wall so she was not in front of it. She bit her lip and summoned all of her courage, and she lifted up the shade.

There was nothing outside of her window.

She sighed, dropping the curling iron to the floor. She slumped against the wall, and sat down on the carpet, curling herself up into a ball. She almost laughed as she pushed her hands through her hair. "You should be ashamed of yourself, girl," she muttered. She cursed herself for getting worked up over nothing.

Krack-kooom!

Like a shotgun blast, lightning struck outside. The room flashed in dazzling grey light, and Caitlin was so startled she jumped to her feet. Before she could even draw a breath, she heard an evil whisper echo around her bedroom.

Chee-chee-chee-chee-chee. Haw-haw-haw-haw-haw. 

The girl saw nothing, but immediately she knew she was not alone in the room. She leapt for the door, but something grabbed her out of the air, and threw her down to the floor. She banged her arm on her dresser, and she tried to cry out as a rough, wild smelling tentacle wrapped around her arms. Her cries did not pass her mouth as a second tentacle—a second vine—covered her lips to suppress her screams. As she kicked and struggled on the floor, she realized there were six vines all together. A vine for each arm and leg, one covering her mouth, and one that was in front of her, almost watching her. She began to cry, feeling their awful serpent like grip around her, and she felt the sixth vine start to move up her leg.

It caressed her thigh almost lovingly, but its thorns and leaves scratched her, drawing tears and blood. It only lingered there for a moment, and it, like the dreadful thing it was, crept up further, and further, tearing at her clothes, until it reached its ungodly target.

The girl, as if losing her sister were not enough, had a new reason to cry.


	8. Evil Dead

Carpenter Memorial Hospital

Advance, Virginia

6:04 AM

Scully yawned and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. If yesterday had been a bad day, then today was going to try to top it. She figured she had only gotten three hours of sleep, and her body felt like she was dragging it through quicksand. Her head hurt and she had trouble thinking clearly, and she was pretty sure she dozed off on the ride over to the hospital.

"Where's the girl?" Scully asked as she stepped into the hospital lobby.

Sheriff Hutchins stood up as the agents entered. "Good morning, Agents Scully and Doggett. She's with a doctor right now."

"Has she said anything about what happened?" Doggett asked, glancing around the room. He wondered if there was any coffee near by.

"No sir, not really. All we've gotten out of her is gibberish. She was pretty hysterical when I saw her, and all the parents said to me was that she had been raped in her bedroom."

Scully nodded. They had been told that much over the phone. "How much longer before we may see her?"

The police officer started to shake his head, but the doors to the examining room were suddenly kicked open with a loud bang. It was like a storm blew through them as Mr. Thompson, Caitlin and Jaime's father, burst into the waiting room in a rage. "Are you the FBI agents?" he asked, addressing Scully and Doggett.

"Yes sir," Doggett said. "Are we to assume you're the father—"

"I want that little Smith bastard arrested and behind bars right this very instant!" Mr. Thompson exclaimed, slamming his fist into his hand. 

"Calm down for a minute, sir. We-" Scully started, but he interrupted her.

"Calm down? Calm down? How the hell can you stand there and tell me to calm down when this little tumor on society is still walking around free? He's killed and raped my daughters, and I want the little son-of-a-bitch behind bars right this very instant."

"Sir, we're doing the best we can to find your daughter's killer, but as it is, there's no evidence to suggest—"

"Look, if you won't bring this kid to justice, then I'm just going to have to take the law into my own hands. Do you understand, little woman?" Mr. Thompson towered over Scully and stabbed his finger into her chest threateningly.

"Now hold it right there, Mr. Thompson," Doggett said, grabbing the man by the hand. "I understand you're under a lot of emotional stress right now, but taking the law into your own hands is only going to make you liable for your actions. You let us handle this. Got it?"

The man's eyes locked into Doggett's, and for a moment they tried to bore holes through each other's heads. At last, the man pulled his arm from Doggett's grip with a jerk and let it drop to his side. "Yeah, I got it," Mr. Thompson said.

"Good," Doggett said.

"Is Caitlin in any state where she can talk with us, sir?" Scully asked.

"Yeah…she's in the back room. There's a nurse that'll show you where she's at."

"Thank you," Scully said politely. She motioned for Doggett and Sheriff Hutchins to follow her, and they were led to the room Caitlin was in. 

Dressed in a hospital gown, she was sitting on a hospital bed with her legs dangling over the side. All over her arms, legs, and face, there were cuts and bruises. She was crying into her hands as her mother, with an arm around her daughter, did her best to comfort the girl. 

"Caitlin," Scully said gently. "My name is Agent Scully, and I believe you know my partner Agent Doggett and Sheriff Hutchins. We'd like it if you could tell us what happened to you this morning."

"Jason Smith raped me, that's what happened!" Caitlin shouted. Her tears came harder now, and they rocked her body as her mother shushed her crying daughter.

"We're aware of that," Doggett said, being gentle. "Do you think you can tell us the whole story? From the beginning?"

Caitlin trembled for several moments. After she nodded, she took several more breaths to collect herself. As she told the story, she broke down several times, but somehow, she got it all out. "I was in my bed, asleep, when I heard this scratching at the window. I heard Jason scratching at my window. So I got up, and I grab a curling iron to bash his sick little head in, and I walk over to it. He wasn't there, but he must have like somehow snuck into my room. Then there was that big crash of lightning, and he started whispering. It was awful…it was like he was all around me. He was playing with me, and trying to make me scared. So I run for the door. Then…then he somehow gets these…these…vines to grab me. These vines like wrap around my arms and legs and they cover my mouth so I can't scream. They hold me down, and one of the vines starts to tear at my clothes and…and…"

"It's all right," Scully said. She had worked her way over to a corner, and she was folding up something and setting it back in a chair. "We appreciate you talking with us." She gave Doggett and the Sheriff a nod, and they exited the room, leaving Caitlin to cry in her mother's arms.

"I was looking at her clothes, the ones she was presumably raped in," Scully said once they were in the lobby. "There's no tearing, no stretching, nothing that would indicate they were forcibly removed from her body. There was blood, among other biological material that would suggest rape, but there was no plant matter. No leaves, no bark, no twigs."

Doggett nodded. "I don't remember no lightning storms neither. Maybe she was high when it happened. The whole thing is traumatic anyway, she could have been hallucinating."

"I don't know," Scully said as she stepped to the side so an old man in a wheelchair could pass. "How familiar are you with Bruce Campbell?"

"I've seen **Evil Dead** twice just this last year," Doggett said. "I know about the scene in the movie where the girl gets raped by vines."

Scully nodded. "It's rather odd that she would hallucinate about that. Maybe we should bring Jason Smith in. If we get Caitlin's garments to a lab, we may have the DNA evidence to hold him. Sheriff Hutchins," Scully said, addressing the policeman, "could you get a team over to the Thompson house to dust for prints or any signs like that?"

"Sure thing, ma'am," the Sheriff said.

"What are we going to do?" Doggett asked.

"I guess we go bring Jason in," Scully said, shrugging.

"But I thought you didn't think he did it."

"I still don't. Part of me still thinks Caitlin is just doing this for attention, but there's no reason for the girl to do _that_ to herself. If Jason killed and raped these people, he needs to be brought in and punished. The only thing we can do now is try to bring Jason in."

"Agent Scully!" Sheriff Hutchins called. He ran back into the lobby. He had been outside, and now he was puffing, out of breath. "I just got a call over the radio. Jason Smith has just turned himself in."

Scully looked at Doggett, and he returned the look right back at her. 

"Well, that was easy."


	9. T1000

Police Department

Advance, Virginia

7:15 AM

Scully, already on her third cup of coffee, stood outside the interrogation room waiting for her partner. Sheriff Hutchins was with her, and she could tell by the way he anxiously tapped his foot that his patience was thinning. It got to be rather annoying because with each passing second, his tapping grew quicker and louder until it grated on Scully's nerves so badly that she finally said, "If you want to question him first, you may. You probably know more about him than we do."

"Are you sure about that?" the officer asked.

"Yes," Scully said, desperate for a way to get rid of him. "I'm sure."

He nodded and said his thanks, and he walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as he did, Doggett walked around the corner, sucking the last bits of Danish off his fingers. He went up and stood beside his partner. "So are we going to question him now?"

"Sheriff Hutchins is doing some questioning right now. We'll have a turn soon enough," Scully said. "Think we should go sit down somewhere until then?"

"Sure," Doggett said.

They started to walk back down the hall, but turned their heads as they heard a commotion at the other end. Two or three people were yelling "Stop! Stop!" and "Get him!", and there was the sound of scurrying feet. The agents glanced at one another, each wondering if the other had any clue about what was going on, when suddenly a thirteen year old boy came running down the hall.

It was Bobby Smith. Behind him were two police officers, both out of breath and neither able to keep up with him. "Grab him!" one of the officers said between gasping for breath.

The boy ran right into Doggett's arms, and the FBI agent picked him up as Bobby kicked and struggled to get free. 

"Let me go! Put me down!" Bobby shouted, struggling with all his might. "Let me go, damn it! I have to see Jason!"

"You have quite the mouth there, kid," Doggett muttered.

"I said put me down, damn you!"

"Shh, Bobby," Scully said. The boy was fighting too hard to notice her as Doggett's arms were a vise around his chest. "Bobby, look at me," Scully said, resting her hand on the boy's cheek. Her hand was a siren's song, and his eyes lit up as he suddenly saw her face.

"Agent Scully!" he exclaimed. "You have to let me see Jason. You have to let me talk to him, because he's making a big mistake!"

"Hey, do you want us to get him out of here?" one of the policemen asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"No, officer," Scully said. "We've got a handle on it." The officers walked back to their office, grumbling about how they were no longer cut out for the line of work. "Doggett, set him down."

Doggett did as Scully told him, and he set the boy gently on his feet. Bobby grumbled, straightening out the jet black jeans he was wearing and smoothing down his Atticus T-shirt. 

"Why do you need to see Jason?" Scully asked him gently.

"Because. He's making a big mistake. A big _big_ mistake."

"What kind of a mistake, Bobby?"

"I can't say. I need to talk to Jason," he said quietly, looking away from her.

"Jason's being questioned right now. If you tell me why you need to see him, I might be able to help you. Remember, Bobby, you can trust me."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Jason didn't do anything. He's just saying he did because…" Bobby trailed off.

"Bobby," Scully began. She kneeled down a little so she could look the boy in the face. "You know who did these things, don't you? You know who killed Jaime and Teddy, and you know who raped Caitlin."

"No…" Bobby said, staring out the window.

"Bobby," Scully said. She gently touched his cheek and turned his face so he looked her straight in the eye. "If you know who did this, you should tell us. It would help us clear your brother's name."

"I can't," Bobby said, his voice cracking ever so slightly. Before he spoke, there was a long pause, and he considered what his answer should be. "Jason…he made me promise not to. He said he'd hate me forever if I did."

"Bobby…now, Bobby, look at me. Tell us who did it. Please. Tell us who did it."

"I…if….let's say someone heard that Caitlin was saying all these things that was getting Jason into trouble, like saying he killed Teddy and Jaime when he didn't, then maybe someone would do something bad to her so she would shut up and learn her lesson. She's not really a very nice person anyway, so you can't feel _too_ sorry for her."

"Bobby, please," Scully began, but she was interrupted by a scream and a crash that came from the interrogation room. 

Instantly, the agents were in the room with Bobby quietly peeking in from the hall. What they saw disgusted Scully. Jason was lying on the floor, his chair lying beside him. He was holding his face and lying on his side because he couldn't prop himself up with the cuffs on. Sheriff Hutchins was on top of him, holding the young man down with his weight, and he pulled his arm back for another swing.

"What the hell are you doing?" Doggett shouted, pulling the man off the boy. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I think I'm getting this sick freak to talk," the sheriff replied. "He wouldn't answer none of my questions, only saying he confessed to everything. Well, I want to know how and why he done it, damn it!"

"Sheriff, I think you better step outside and cool off," Scully said, showing she was in control of the situation. "Let us get those answers from him." Scully locked him down in a stare that the policeman was helpless to argue against. He walked out of the room and down the hall grumbling.

Scully sighed and shook her head as Doggett helped Jason back to his seat. She looked for Bobby, wondering what to tell him, but he was gone. She looked out into the hall, and he was no where to be seen. She knew he had gotten angry or frightened and ran off. She debated whether or not to go look for him, but she decided she had work that needed to be done at the moment. Besides, the boy could not get too far in a police station, could he?

Doggett helped Jason up and sat him in the chair. Scully shut the door. Scully then took a moment to look Jason over, and, when they were sure he was okay, Doggett asked, "Jason, what did you tell Sheriff Hutchins?" 

"I just said I want to confess to everything, but I didn't want to talk about any specifics. It's…I'm ashamed of what I did," Jason said. He sounded scared to death, but he spoke like he was reading from a cue card. There was no sincerity in his voice, but it wasn't from lack of caring or lack of remorse. He was not convincing at all, and Scully immediately caught his act.

"You're ashamed or you don't know the specifics?" Scully asked bluntly. There was a look on Jason's face that confirmed her suspicions. "Jason, we don't know why or who, but we know you're protecting someone. We know that you didn't commit these crimes. Or at least we believe that you didn't. Despite the overwhelming motive, there's no evidence that links you to them."

Jason studied his hands intently, searching them for an answer to the agent.

"Tell us who did this, Jason," Scully said. "Tell us now so we can let you go. Tell us so you can go home to your dad and your little brother that loves you."

Jason shook his head. Like a kicked, beaten puppy he said, "I can't."

"Why not?" Scully said, her frustration on the rise. She pounded on the table. "Who…who could possibly be worth going to jail for? You have two homicides and a rape charge staring you in the face. They're going to throw the book at you, try you as an adult, and make an example out of you! Do you have any idea what goes on in prison, Jason? You're still just a kid and a young looking one at that. I think you know what that'll mean in jail. Now tell us who the hell raped Caitlin Thompson and killed those kids!" 

"I told you, I can't!" Jason exclaimed, slamming his cuffed fists on the table. Scully could see the tear stains on his bruised cheeks. "I…I don't want to go to jail, all right? I know what happens there and it scares the living hell out of me. I just…I can't tell you." The burden, whoever he was carrying it for, pushed down on his head, making him stare at the table. "It's better this way," he muttered distantly.

* * *

On the other side of the police station, Sheriff Hutchins swore as he zipped up his pants. As he flushed the urinal, he wished the FBI were no longer involved. He had been excited at first, but now they were just in the way of him of punishing a rapist and a murderer. Jason Smith was trash, and trash needed to be taken out and burned. Hutchins walked over to the sink and started to wash his hands, mumbling and swearing at the names Doggett and Scully. He took a glance at himself as he cleaned up, then he turned his eyes back to his hands. "I'll tell you what, Hutchins. If you were in charge here, this case would be open and shut. We wouldn't have any of this soft hearted, wussy, juris-my-diction crap that's coming out of those two…two…_arrogant_ FBI agents." He rinsed all the soap off, then he shut off the water. Then he happened to glance in the mirror.

Agent Doggett stood behind him.

"Oh," Hutchins said meekly. "Uh…hello there, Agent Doggett. You, uh, heh heh, shouldn't sneak up on people. It almost gave me a start." Hutchins forced a nervous bit of laughter out of his throat, and he turned from the mirror to face the agent. When he did, he gasped.

Agent Doggett had disappeared, and in his place stood someone that looked exactly like Sheriff Hutchins. Stunned and frightened, Hutchins backed himself against the sink, seeking desperately for a way out. The fake Hutchins eyed the sheriff coldly, like a wolf sizing up his next meal, and pointed a finger menacingly at the real officer.

"Now, now look…I don't want no trouble," Hutchins said. He squealed as his doppleganger's finger began to melt and mold itself into a long metal point. "Oh, God, please don't kill me," Hutchins gasped, falling to his knees to beg for his life.

"You're terminated," the doppleganger said, and the room was quiet as he painted the floor in blood.


	10. The Silence of the Lioness

"Agent Doggett, why don't you find Sheriff Hutchins to take Jason to a cell?" Scully suggested.

"Sure thing," Doggett said.  As he exited the room, Doggett's eyes lingered on Jason, sending a cold chill down the boy's spine.  After the door was closed, Jason felt the sting of Scully's glare.

"All right," Scully said, pulling a chair out and sitting down across from Jason. She looked him in the eye to show she meant business. "I know who you're protecting."

"R-really?" Jason stammered.

"Yes, and as hard as it is to pin these crimes on you, it'll be harder to pin them on him.  Why did Bobby kill those kids?"

Jason sighed.  "Bobby didn't kill them," he said meekly.

"Don't lie to me, Jason.  I understand you want to protect your little brother, but I don't want you lying to me.  Why did he kill them?  Did he see how much she hurt you by turning you down?  And then he figured it was because she was with the football player, so he just killed them both? Is that it?"

Jason sighed, the air taking a lifetime to exit his lungs. "More or less," he said. "The day she turned me down…God, I don't know what I was thinking when I asked her in the first place.  But the night she turned me down, I was pretty torn up, and I thought if I locked myself in my room nobody would notice, but I guess Bobby did.  And since he's got to take care of his big brother…"

"I see. And then he blamed Caitlin for saying that it was you that killed them, and since he didn't like her anyway, he decided to get a little bit of sick revenge."

"Yeah.  I didn't…I didn't know about any of this until I caught him sneaking back in the house this morning.  I made him tell me everything."

"Even how he did all this?"

"He showed me. I…I didn't believe it at first."

"What can he do?"

"He…he calls it Awesome Mind Funk."  Jason chuckled, but Scully wasn't laughing. Jason cleared his throat and continued.  "He can like make a person see an illusion, and though it's not really happening at all, you think it is.  I mean, you can smell and see and feel every part of it. He…he made me feel like I was singing with Bruce Springsteen. It was…unbelievable.  He says he can't do anything too big or grand, just small scale stuff and one person at a time."

"I wouldn't call two murders and a rape small scale. How did he keep this hidden so long?"

"I have no idea," Jason said.  "He usually has such a big mouth."

There was a knock on the interrogation room door, and Scully's eyes snapped to it.  "Who's there?" she called.

Nobody answered her, but there was a second round of knocking.  She knew—she just knew--it wasn't Doggett or the Sheriff.  Scully's heart fluttered like the butterflies in her stomach.  It was a sick feeling, and her instincts told her to stay put as walked towards the door.  Her hand reached behind her back until she felt the handle of her gun, and she cautiously put her hand on the doorknob.  Slowly, ever so slowly, she turned it and opened the door.

"Why hello, Clarice," the man, the neatly groomed, evil man on the other side of the door said.  He grabbed her by the hand and throat and pushed her back against the wall, bouncing her head off the concrete.  She groaned and struggled.  His grip was a vise, and her gun fell to the floor as she choked for air.

"Bobby, stop!" Jason said, standing to his feet.

"Shut up, Jay," Hannibal Lector shouted at him. "I'm trying to save your ass. Now," he turned to Scully, "tell me, Clarice.  Would you ever say to me 'Stop. If you love me, you'd stop'?"

"Stop the game, Bobby," Scully said sternly.  She kept cool, though her lungs twisted and turned as the hand tightened around her neck. It felt like a train was pounding through her blood vessels.  "Stop this.  You're only going to complicate things further and make it harder on yourself."

"You ignore my question, Clarice, how very impolite.  Quid pro quo. Would you ever tell me to stop?  That if I really loved you, I'd stop?"

His breath was like dragon fire on her neck, and his mouth was so close to her face that she could see his teeth, dripping like fangs.  Lack of sleep and fear rattled her brain, yet in this moment, one scene became clear in her head. It was a perfect image, and she could see every detail.  She could hear the words that a man, a man that knew her better than anyone else, had spoken to her not long ago on one lonely, quiet night. "Scully," he had said, "would you ever tell me to stop?  That if I truly cared about you as a partner, a friend, or something more, that I would stop chasing after shadows, that I would give up this foolish quest that seems to lose me everything?" He was a broken man at the time, looking for assurance. She had smiled, placed her hand gently on his cheek, and spoken the words she now said: "Not in a thousand years."

The fangs moved in for her neck, aiming to tear out a chunk of her flesh, and Scully closed her eyes and waited for the wrenching pain to start.  His breath was hot and wet, and she knew the end would be any moment.  "That's my girl," Hannibal said suddenly, and he pulled back.  He let her go, and he looked down sheepishly. "I'm sorry," he said gently, and for a moment he sounded more like the little boy than a Hollywood icon. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, and Scully could smell the fumes on it. "I'm really really sorry, Agent Scully," he said again, and pressed the rag to her face.  

Scully fought and held her breath as long as she could, but eventually she had to inhale.  Then everything went black as Scully collapsed to the floor at the feet of Dr. Hannibal Lector. 

…


	11. The Ending Was Left Open for a Crappy Se...

"Scully! Agent Scully!" Doggett exclaimed, shaking the limp body of his partner.

Scully groaned and rubbed her head. "Where…where did they go?"

"Jason?"

"Jason and Bobby," Scully said, letting John help her to her feet. She rubbed her temple.  It felt bruised; she must have hit it on the floor.  "Don't ask me to explain it now, but Bobby's the one we're after."

"Well, I went to find Sheriff Hutchins," Doggett said as they stepped into the hall, their pace quickening to a jog, "and they told me he was in the restroom. I got in there, and there was blood all over the floor and it looked like somebody shoved a screwdriver or something in his eye.  Then there was all this commotion going on by the door, like somebody was busting out of here. I haven't made it there to see what was…oh man…"

The agents stopped and surveyed the chaos of the police station.  It looked like a small war had taken place.  Papers were thrown all around, blood was splattered on the walls and floor, and seven police officers lie groaning in pain. Some of them were clutching their legs, others their arms.  Either way, it looked like a monster had pushed its way through, slashing at anything that got in its way.

"What happened?" Doggett shouted.

"That Smith kid came through here, some kid was pulling him by the hand," an uninjured officer said.  "And from what these people say…they say something like Jason Voorhees pushed them out of his way. I didn't see nothing like that though."  

"Where did they go?" Scully asked.

"They went outside—took a left into the woods."

"Oh great…" Doggett muttered, and he and Scully followed the trail into the woods.

When the agents stepped foot into the woods, it was like they had stepped across time.  The air suddenly got colder, the sun disappeared behind ominous clouds, and the woods were quiet, deathly quiet, as if everything in them was afraid to make a sound.

"Bobby and Jared Smith, you are under arrest!" Scully shouted, pointing her gun this way and that, knowing, just knowing, something was about to jump out at her.  "Come out with your hands up!"

"We're never gonna find them like this," Doggett said.  "I think we should split up."

"Right," Scully said.  "How many horror movies have you seen again?"

"Several."

"And is it ever a good idea to chase Jason Voorhees and 'split up'?"

Doggett shook his head.  "Have any better suggestions?"

Scully shook her head.  "No. Let's split up."  

Scully went left as Doggett went right.  They had not seen any tracks, and they were walking blindly through the forest.  Suddenly, after leaving Doggett's view, Scully heard the snapping of twigs to her right. In an instant, her gun was aimed and she took a few cautious steps forward.  "Jason?  Bobby?" she called as she sidestepped around a tree.  There was nothing behind it, but she suddenly became aware of the dense fog surrounding her.  It was thick, pea soup thick, and she could see only a few yards in front of her face.  It hadn't been foggy when they entered the woods.

Snap. Pop.  More twigs cracked behind Scully, but she couldn't see through all the fog.  She strained her ears, but she could only pick up silence.  Nothing dared to move in the forest, and she swallowed hard, biting her lip. Her finger was on the trigger.  She listened more.  Silence. Awful silence.  Her own breath. The crunching of leaves under her feet. Silence. More silence.  More leaves crunching.  Silence. Her heart racing. More silence.  And a piano.

Faint, very faint, piano music filled the air.  It was only three notes, and it sounded familiar.  Scully had heard it before, but it took her a few moments to place it.  It was the **Halloween** theme; the music played right before Michael Myers kills somebody.

"Bobby, I know you're there. Come out with your hands up," Scully said, and she wondered how she avoided choking on the words.  The music grew louder, a bass part joined in, and the tension was almost matched by the tenseness of Scully's muscles.  

Twigs snapped to her left, and Scully shot around to see a man, a tall frightening man in a Halloween mask holding a long, bloody, butcher's knife.  "Drop it," Scully demanded, pointing her gun at the individual.  Through the mask, he seemed to smile.    

She cried out as vines wrapped around her arms and legs, like a dozen evil serpents, and pulled her down to the forest floor.  She fought and kicked but nothing she did could free her from their terrible grip.  The man appeared over her, and his soulless eyes ran over her, leaving an icy trail in their wake.  He could smell her fear, and he flipped the knife over in his hand so the point was aimed at her throat.  

"Stop it, Bobby!" Scully shouted, and the vines tightened around her.

The man kneeled down and held the knife so that when she swallowed, she could feel the lump in her throat brush against the sharp blade that wanted to end her life.  She shut her eyes and bit her lip, helpless, and knowing there was nothing more she could do.  She waited for the end; she knew it was close.  After all the times she had cheated death, she wondered why fate chose for it to end like this.  

But then fate changed its mind.

"Bobby Smith, you're under arrest."  Doggett said, pointing his gun at the boy.  He stood over Doggett's partner as she fought against demons he could not see.  

Bobby looked up at Doggett menacingly, like a little devil child.  Doggett watched, his mouth hanging open in awe, as the boy's form stretched and grew until he was a full grown man.  A full grown man with a hockey mask and chain-saw.

"Drop your weapon," Doggett ordered, aiming the gun at him.

Even through the hockey mask, Doggett could see the smile of a boy pulling the wings off flies and breaking a cat's legs. The man charged at him, growling like a wild animal instead of a human, and Doggett shut his eyes and fired his first and only shot.

He aimed for the man's heart, and the bullet hit to the right of the target.  Doggett expected to see a man hit the ground, but heard only the quiet thud of a small body falling onto the leaves.

"Oh my god!" Jason shouted, running over to the fallen boy. "Bobby!  Bobby! Say something! Please…oh, God…please…please say something," Jason stammered over and over, cradling the boy in his arms. It didn't matter that Bobby's shoulder covered them in blood; he would give anything just to hear his brother's tiny voice again.

"Let me look at him," Scully said, kneeling down over Bobby. She had to pull him from Jason's arms, which was difficult since she was still shaking. She felt for Bobby's pulse, and she saw she was as pale as the boy. "He's breathing. He's alive, but barely. We have to get him to the hospital, fast. Doggett, we need you to carry him."

Doggett did not hear her. He was leaning against a tree, staring down at them but not seeing them at all.

"Doggett! Did you hear me? We need you to carry him?" John again didn't answer. "Agent Doggett, what's wrong?"

"I…" he choked. "I can't believe I just shot a kid."  

Doggett shook himself off and bent down to pick Bobby up.

_***_

_If fear is our most primitive emotion, our most primitive instinct, then what is its opposite?  What is our most complex?  Many would argue, and I, Dana Scully, would agree, that it is love.  Where fear merely brings a sense of suffering, love brings with it the following: happiness, longing, sorrow, lust, and a host of others.  We share our love in many ways.  Be it for a family member, a friend, or the person that you would follow to the end of the Earth and back.  In literature and cinema, love is always portrayed as a positive emotion—a good feeling.  Yet in our lives, how much of our suffering, our sorrow, can be attributed to it?  I believe that love, when you are with the ones you care about, and you can hold them, hear them, and feel their breath on your hands, is a positive feeling.  It's the closest some of us may ever get to Heaven.  Yet when the ones we share love for are taken or kept away from us, and we wonder when, if ever, we will hear their laugh or see their smiling face again, then love is truly the closest thing we have to Hell on Earth._

_---_

Caitlin Thompson tightened her jacket against the cold breeze blowing through the cloudy cemetery.  She's read the tombstone in front of her eighteen times, but she never understands the words.  It seems like they are written in a foreign language, because they cannot possibly be real.

Jaime Thompson 

1983-2000

Daughter. Sister. Friend.

She shivers, but not from the cold.  She wipes a tear from her eye, sets some flowers on the grave, and she thinks of all that she wishes she had said.

---

Three counties away, Jason Smith sits with his father's hand on his shoulder.  The chair is cold and hard, but not nearly as hard as the glass that separates him and his brother.  They couldn't send Bobby to jail, he was too young, but they could send him to the hospital.  They said he was disturbed, and that he was dangerous_.  They keep him in isolation.  He doesn't deserve to be here, Jason thinks, __and it isn't fair that he spends twenty-three hours of the day in a plain white room, all by himself.  Jason could see the toll it took on his brother; Bobby's once happy, boyish face looked like an aged, eighty-year-old man's.  Bobby tries to smile, tries to give his brother strength, and Jason almost laughs.  He is supposed to be strong for Bobby, not the other way around.  He touches his hand to the glass and sees his brother struggle against his shoulder cast to do the same._

---

The house is quiet except for the sounds coming from John Doggett's television.  He watches a video that's at least a decade old, and the hardened cop, who has seen deaths we can't imagine, is blinking hard to keep the tears in his eyes.  On the screen is a little boy.  He's on top of a slide, and he gives a little wave, but his eyes show that he is scared to death.  "You promise you'll catch me?" he calls down to a man.  To the boy, the man, his father, seems miles away, but his father assures him he's there to catch his son.  "You promise?"  "I promise. Would I ever lie?" the man says.  Finally, with these words, the boy summons the courage to let go of the slide, and his eyes are tightly shut as he plummets downwards into his father's arms.  

The man holds the boy tightly, and spins him around for a moment.  "How was it?"

"Fun!"

"I told you it was.  And I told you I'd catch you."

The boy pulls himself away for a moment so he can look his dad in the eye.  Then he smiles and gives the man a great big hug around the neck.  "Can we do it again?"

John Doggett smiles, and he rewinds the video.

---

In her apartment, Dana Scully sits on a couch as well.  An hour ago the doctor told her that her baby and pregnancy were both doing well and everything was going according to schedule. In a few months she would have a perfectly healthy and normal baby bouncing around.  The news should have put her at ease, but she was still on edge.  On her coffee table, there was a photograph of a man, a man who knew her better than anyone else.  She didn't need a photo to see his face, to see his eyes or his emotionless smile, and she shook a little as she looked at it.  It had been so long, so very long and she was no closer to finding him than she had been months ago.  "Mulder…" she muttered, her voice like broken glass. "I miss you."

_Oh let our love survive - or dry the tears from your eyes  
Let's don't let a good thing die  
When honey, you know  
I've never lied to you  
Mmm yeah, yeah  
We're caught in a trap, I can't walk out  
because I love you too much baby  
  
_

End


End file.
